


Professing is Not Revealing

by raven_aorla



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Family Feels, Fix-It, Gen, Humor, Interrogation, Season 2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: Having learned that the two have a personal bond, Ángel hopes that Berlin might be more talkative about the Professor while he's in custody and still in a hospital bed, loopy from surgery after multiple gunshot wounds. He totally is, but not in a way that's useful to the police.(Or: Recovering!Berlin gets an opportunity to ramble annoyingly about the one person he truly cares about.)





	Professing is Not Revealing

**Author's Note:**

> I do not condone Berlin's awful actions towards hostages. Yet I also want Andres and Sergio to keep being adorable together. Plus this fandom could use more fic. ;)
> 
> By the way, though I consider him a fairly good man overall, Ángel's thoughts towards Racquel have icky Nice Guy elements that I reference here but don't condone either.

Andrés de Fonollosa had clearly intended to die in a blaze of glory and a hail of bullets in order to buy his co-conspirators more time to escape. He’d managed the latter but failed the former. A combination of a bulletproof vest, a recent head injury that made him become dizzy and pass out from the overexcitement and so appear dead long enough to stop being shot at, and a hefty dose of absurd luck had left him seriously wounded but alive. The authorities had spared no expense at saving him. Beyond their legal obligation to preserve the life of someone in custody, this was their best chance at finding out where to find the other six survivors. 

Ángel was barely cleared for duty himself when he visited de Fonollosa in his heavily guarded hospital room. With Racquel disgraced and fired - though at least she would not be facing criminal charges due to lack of solid proof that she’d collaborated with the robbers - Ángel was the best suited to question the man. 

Having regained consciousness only yesterday, de Fonollosa couldn’t even sit up by himself, though the bed was bent forward enough to prop him up. He was heavily medicated while he recovered from multiple surgeries and was likely to talk a fair amount of nonsense. However, his mental state might also make him more compliant. While it was necessary to have security, given what happened the last time a member of this team was in custody, Ángel decided to have the guard stay unobtrusively in the corner and conduct this interview alone. He would record it for later analysis and to protect himself from accusations of mistreatment. It wasn’t like they were injecting de Fonollosa with sodium pentothal, and this wasn’t meant to be evidence for his trial. This was for information on the others. They didn’t have time to lose. 

The smug and carefree smile that greeted Ángel suggested that de Fonollosa was a sociopath, out of his mind on the drugs trickling through his IV bag, or both. Possibly both. “Oh, it’s the police-nurse-man. It’s been very dull since I woke up. Are you here to entertain me?”

Ángel set up the audio recording device and pressed play. Then he settled into a chair, close enough to see de Fonollosa’s expressions well but out of grabbing distance if he got agitated. He wasn’t currently restrained to the bed, though that was an option if needed in the future. “I’m with the police, yes, but I’m just here to talk. You can call me Ángel. Can I call you Andres?”

“No names. We can’t use our names. That’s what he says.” De Fonollosa sounded scandalized. “I’m Berlin.”

“Berlin, then. Who is ‘he’? The Professor?”

“Berlin’s” head lolled against the pillows. “Yes. He has the perfect plan. Perfect, except for some of the group being idiots and maybe some of the details needing a little more wiggle room. Freedom of interpretation.”

If there was any luck left in the world for Ángel, and this investigation, Berlin was genuinely without filters right now and not faking it. Though Ángel had a few other tricks up his sleeve to get him off-balance. “I spoke to Miss Ariadna.” 

“Who?” Berlin blinked a few times, then he leered so blatantly it made Ángel uncomfortable. “Oh! Oh, yes. Yesssssss. Is she alright? Tell her it’s not personal that I don’t want to marry her, it’s just that after five divorces I’ve had enough of that scam, but she’ll be in my will if she keeps up her end of the bargain.”

 _You were obsessed with the poor woman and trying to kidnap her,_ Ángel did not say. If he switched strategies and became accusatory and harsh later on, he definitely would, but for now he would tread more lightly. “She’s in good health.” Physically, yes. Mentally, she clearly needed counseling, but she wasn’t unique among the hostages in that regard.

“Am I in a hospital, or am I in a hospital room inside a prison?” Berlin asked, not showing any reaction to Ángel answer.

“You’re currently in a hospital, but you are under arrest.” 

“He’s going to be so upset with me.” That was the closest Ángel ever heard Berlin come to expressing genuine regret.

“Sergio?” Ángel guessed.

Berlin’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not supposed to know his name.”

Mentioning Ariadna didn’t seem to be useful, so Ángel cut to the meatier bit of information to use as a tool. “We’ve had time to do deeper research into you. For a few years, when you were barely an adult yourself, you were registered as the legal guardian of the orphaned Sergio Marquina. Records say you were granted the guardianship because you were his half-brother. He later erased himself from the system, but he never erased you. I’d like you to tell me about him.” 

That was the first priority, the person the government wanted to catch if they could only choose one. The puppet master. The ringleader. The son-of-a-bitch who’d wormed into Racquel’s life and twisted her infatuation with him to his own advantage. Sure, Ángel had held back his name for Racquel’s sake, but only for her sake, and that was a one-time favor. Thankfully, he had escaped being charged with obstruction by claiming that he’d simply been confused when newly emerged from a coma. From now on he was fully committed to seeing Marquina behind bars. By then, surely Racquel would have come to her senses and realized her pattern for somehow preferring men who ended up hurting her, rather than her most devoted coworker and dear friend. Not that Ángel was bitter.

For a moment, a second or two at most, Berlin looked fully awake and alert. Then he sank back into his dreamy state. “Ah, my dear little brother..."

“You got along well?”

Then Ángel found himself bombarded with deeply personal, thoroughly useless information. Sergio was a sickly child, but as an adult was diligent about keeping himself at peak fitness. Sergio folded animals out of paper to help himself focus. Sergio liked his wines very dry, but his occasional desserts very sweet. Sergio dressed like an old man, but with his brother’s prodding he learned how to dress like a classy old man. Sergio always rooted for underdog countries in the World Cup. Sergio became intensely annoyed if anyone moved his books out of order. Sergio liked reading a bit of everything: law, political theory, philosophy, various areas of science, economics, mythology, history, poetry, and was not above curling up with a sci-fi novel or a crime thriller in his downtime. Sergio had accepted his brother jokingly calling him “my little professor” long before all this happened. Sergio did not visit Berlin in prison, at Berlin’s own insistence to keep Sergio safe from becoming publicly associated with him, but wrote to him frequently and arranged for his medicine to be delivered to him in secret. 

(It would have been interesting to learn where Marquina got all his money before the heist, but Berlin didn’t seem inclined to talk about it. It wasn’t priority.)

Then, because Ángel’s life was fundamentally cursed, Berlin detailed how Sergio was shy with girls growing up, especially ones who approached him rather than the other way around. How, with a bit of coaching, he learned to turn that shyness into something that attracted women who were looking for a gentle intellectual type. Even if that was only one small aspect of his personality, and even if he’d never had the time or energy to really devote himself to anything other than his big dream - though maybe now he would. 

At this point, Berlin paused to take a sip of water from the plastic cup with a straw sitting on his bedside table. “What’s wrong? I see a ring on your finger. No cause to be _jealous_.” 

“It’s nothing.”

That smug smile again. “Are you sure?” 

Amidst all their scheming, had “the Professor” taken a break from giving orders to “Berlin” and become _Sergio_ confiding in _Andrés_? Did he know what had been done to Racquel? Was he mocking Ángel now? Was he? 

Punching a sedated patient recently out of surgery - who was also dying of an unrelated condition - would be extremely bad form, Ángel reminded himself. He tried to smooth his expression into something neutral. He needed to rein this conversation in before he lost his temper. “Did he ever say anything about where he would like to spend his retirement? Surely you must know places he’s particularly interested in.”

The dreamy look really did drain from Berlin’s face now. “We agreed not talk about it,” he said firmly.

“And never see each other again? That doesn’t sound like you.” After a long, uncomfortable silence, Ángel continued, “Listen. We both know you don’t have enough time left to serve the full sentence you deserve anyway. If you cooperate, the government has some room to be lenient with a man who will be dead soon and increasingly disabled until then. Something more comfortable, like house arrest perhaps.”

Berlin painfully tried to sit up for a moment before slumping back again. “A few days ago, I was willing to die for him. Do you think I’d sell him out even if I knew?”

“What about any other members of your group?”

He laughed. “Telling me would have broken the rules. Besides, they all hated me. They put up with me because they needed me for the plan, because I was the one the Professor trusted to be the field leader.”

Ángel tried a few more angles, but Berlin pretended to fall asleep. Maybe tomorrow.

Except Ángel didn’t get tomorrow. 

Six hours later, the prisoner was gone without a trace.

***

Andrés spent most of the long flight sleeping, with chemical assistance or otherwise. The private jet contained a lovely bed and a less lovely but very competent nurse, if a weak Spanish-speaker. Nairobi was also there for some reason. He asked her why during one of his few periods of consciousness.

“The Professor needed someone to pass along his orders to the mercenaries. He trusts me and the police don’t know I know you. Offered to add a few thousand Euros to my share.” She twisted her pretty mouth in good humor. She was sitting sideways in a leather-upholstered seat, bare feet tucked under her and a cocktail within reach. Her voice remained fond. “It’s not very satisfying hating a trigger-happy misogynistic hostage-abuser if I can’t remind you of that from time to time. I won’t stay once I’ve handed you off, but I can send you text messages. Messages reminding you that I hate you.”

“I’m not much for texting,” he said, rather than saying _I know you want to fuck Sergio and that this must have been a factor in agreeing, but he thinks of you as more of a little sister, sorry_. He felt like he was on a cloud, not a plane. He didn’t look forward to being weaned off the painkillers, but Sergio would insist and ultimately it was for the best. He wanted to spend what time he had left with a clear head.

She shrugged. “Emails?”

“That might work.” His eyelids were heavy. He may or may not have imagined her patting his shoulder. Strange woman. She’d been...nice to have around. With effort, he said, “I admire the balls it took to lead a coup against me like that, and to admit when you were out of your depth. Don’t ever give me a head injury again, though.”

“It was only a mild one and you deserved it.” This time she definitely patted his shoulder.

***

According to Nairobi, Sergio hadn’t settled in Manila, but isolated tropical idylls rarely had the finest hospitals. He’d made the trip to the big city was waiting in what he must have deemed the best place in the Philippines for Andrés to recover. Andrés wondered with distant amusement if the Spanish authorities were now painstakingly dissecting everything he’d told the acting Inspector while pretending to be woozy and vulnerable, as if Sergio’s fondness for origami might indicate a desire to hide in Japan or some other bullshit. 

“If you hug me any harder I might pop,” Andrés told him.

Sergio loosened his grip but didn’t let go. “That’s physically impossible, though I suppose I could damage your ribs. I _mourned_ you. Now I will coddle you until long past the point you become tired of it.” 

The utterly sincere, guileless statement made Andrés start laughing, even if laughing hurt. “I love you too, _hermanito_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I love comments.


End file.
